Lonely Remorse
by Hullachan
Summary: Petunia sits at her husband's funeral pondering how her family has broken. The last thing she expects is her nephew to walk in and take a seat in the back pew of the village church


Petunia looked down as the vicar started speaking, her hands knotted on top of the black fabric she was wearing. She had no desire to be sat here in the small, plain village church hearing of her husband's life story. Hadn't she been with him for most of it? Hadn't she heard him talk of his work each and every day? Didn't she know so much more than the people who had turned up out of kindness to her about their move to the Welsh countryside years ago?

He was talking about how Vernon had been a devoted father and a wonderful husband. Well yes, of course he was devoted to the son who blinded both of his parents; the son who had fallen into ways that had disgraced them both. It had killed Vernon to lose his dignity in such a way.

Petunia turned sharply at the sound of the door opening, interrupting her morose thoughts. Her shock that someone other than the elderly villagers would turn up – and late at that – was overcome with astonishment at the perpetrators. It was a young man taller than she had remembered him with untidy hair, rather more smartly dressed than she had ever seen him before and clutching a small bundle to his chest. He was followed by an attractive young woman with long red hair who looked apologetic. Momentarily forgetting where she was or what she was doing, Petunia stared at her nephew, dumbfounded by his appearance.

The vicar cleared his throat, bringing Petunia back to the setting and continuing as though there had been no interruption. He was not the monotonous, dog-collared old man she had been expecting but she had no interest in hearing a watered-down version of how Vernon climbed to the top in business; of his reputation; of how he brought up his nephew after his wife's sister and her husband died so tragically in a car crash...that, she supposed, was news to the gossiping villagers. No doubt they would be talking about this revelation over their knitting later on.

At that point there was a noise coming from the back pew that distracted Petunia. Turning her head only slightly, she saw out of the corner of her eye the red-haired woman whisper something to the young man and leave the church carrying the bundle, looking apologetically in her direction. Petunia didn't care; nor would the villagers. As it was, she doubted whether any of them were listening anyway. Vernon was never a servant of the community; instead, he'd rather have held himself above them all. This thought and the fact that the man who was, admittedly, beginning to drone on about everything Vernon had ever done was becoming slightly overwhelming, particularly as Marge began to sob dramatically next to her.

Of course she had loved her husband; in fact, she had doted on him as she had doted on Dudley. But there was no use in pretending he was a wonderful man – not when the nephew they had both so horribly neglected was sitting behind her. What was he doing here? He surely wasn't paying his respects...

A scuffling around her as the villagers and Marge stood up announced the end of the short service. Mrs Kennels from the corner cottage mumbled something she knew to be condolences, but Petunia merely nodded stiffly and did not return the kind smile. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Marge walk straight past the young man behind Petunia without giving him a second glance. Evidently, she did not have a clue who he was.

Mrs Kennels had hobbled away. The vicar offered his own regrets before leaving her to her own private grief. She knew from an inaudible exchange of words behind her that Harry must be the only one left sitting there with her. A moment later he was standing by her, looking slightly awkward.

'Hello,' he said uncomfortably, his hands in his pockets.

Petunia looked up. She didn't know what to say to the boy who she had so badly ignored as he had grown up; the boy who she didn't even know had still been alive until today. She lowered her eyes from the guilt his face brought her.

'How did you know?' she asked quietly.

Harry sat down beside her. 'Dedalus Diggle told me when I ran into him at the Ministry yesterday.'

Petunia closed her eyes. _Of course_...Diggle, the man who had been part of forcing them to leave Privet Drive, had told them he lived in the village next to the one they would be moving to in case of emergency. He must have seen the small announcement that Marge had insisted she put in the local paper last week.

'Where's Dudley?' asked Harry's puzzled voice, and Petunia opened her eyes to see him looking around.

'He's not here,' she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, and the grief of the last few months engulfed her. She lost all dignity and put her head in her hands, shaking uncontrollably. 'He's – he's in prison,' she continued, her voice muffled.

'Oh,' said Harry, who sounded at a complete loss for words. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments whilst Petunia composed herself.

'It killed him,' she said quietly, sitting up. 'Vernon. He couldn't stand the shame of a son in prison. After Dudley...' she stopped to take a breath then continued, 'Dudley was always scared when he knew about the - the war you were fighting. He was always looking over his shoulder. When someone caught him off guard...he attacked them.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry.

She shook her head and another silence followed.

'Why are you here?' she asked, abandoning any pretence.

Harry paused for a moment before answering. 'I wasn't going to come,' he said honestly, 'but – well – he was my uncle...'

'He hated you.'

The words had come out before she had thought about them, and she looked away, embarrassed.

'I know he hated me,' said Harry, unperturbed. 'If it wasn't for me, he'd be as normal as he'd have liked to have been. He wouldn't have had to move from Surrey, either.'

An uncomfortable silence followed this as they both recollected their last meeting.

'What happened?' Petunia asked, looking at Harry painfully. 'Is the war over?'

She thought she saw shock flick over her nephew's face for a moment before it became expressionless.

'Yeah,' he said, looking away. 'Yeah, it's over. He's gone. It was a few years ago now.'

'Was it – did you –'

'It's all over now,' he said defiantly, closing the conversation. Petunia stared at him. He looked so much older than she could have anticipated. Her father had always said that 'war ages the young'. But underneath it all, there was still the same scar; the same offensively messy hair; the same round glasses enhancing the same bright green eyes: Lily's eyes.

'The woman who came in with you –' she began.

'Ginny. My wife,' he said, his face visibly relaxing, and for the first time she noticed him fingering a gold wedding ring on his left hand.

'You're married?' she said, surprise temporarily taking over her.

'Yes,' he replied, smiling. 'We got married two years ago. It was just a quiet wedding. We didn't want a fuss...or the press invading.'

Petunia looked away. That her sister was a witch was something she had never been able to accept; that her nephew was a famous and probably very powerful wizard simply scared her.

'We had a son,' said Harry proudly, a smile upon his face. 'He was two months old yesterday.'

To her dismay, Petunia felt a lump rise in her throat. Harry wasa father? That would have made Lily a grandmother...that would have made Lily so happy.

'We called him James,' Harry continued. 'James Sirius.'

Petunia knew the name Sirius...Sirius had been Harry's godfather, the one he hadn't been able to live with. 'Sirius died too, didn't he?' she said quietly and he nodded, looking down. Petunia suddenly understood just how much Harry had lost in his lifetime. He was probably the only person she knew who truly understood what she was going through just now. But he had his whole life to fill again: as he built his family, she lost hers.

The door creaked open once again behind her and they both turned from their front-pew seats to see who was there. The pretty young woman – Harry's i_wife/i_ – had come back inside, slightly wet and holding the bundle she knew to be called James close to her chest. Harry beckoned her to come down.

'Aunt Petunia, this is Ginny,' he said, as he took the sleeping bundle out of her arms. 'And this – this is James.'

It had been so long since she had seen the happiness family was meant to bring you that for a moment she recoiled in surprise. However, as the baby in front of her smiled in his sleep she felt a little of his happiness; a little of his hope. She looked at Ginny.

'You're like Lily,' she whispered, horrified to feel a lump rising in her throat. 'You remind me of them both.'

The couple looked at each other, smiling. 'Thank you,' said Ginny quietly after a moment. 'I don't know if you meant that as a compliment or not, but thank you all the same.'

'We can't stay much longer,' said Harry. 'I only have the morning off of work.'

Petunia nodded as the young family got up to leave. Ginny mentioned the rain outside and Harry immediately pulled a jacket for his young son out of nowhere (though she'd never admit that) and turned to leave.

'Harry,' she said before he walked away again, standing up to face them. She had given up the opportunity to do this once before; she wasn't going to do it again. Harry and Ginny looked back at her.

'Harry, I – I'm sorry,' Petunia said, her voice breaking.

Harry bit his lip, nodded, and turned away, his sleeping son seeming to complete him with his wife by his side. The remorse she felt as he cradled James close by him was overwhelmingly painful, but he had come to her. She would be able to clear the guilt away a little, knowing that a young child in the world would not suffer the way his father had all those years ago.


End file.
